Wanderlust - A Phan tale about Hipsters
by ibuypeetasbread
Summary: When Phil is left jobless in New York City he is given 2 hours to leave. To simply leave his whole life. Getting on his scooter he doesn't have anywhere to go, so he drives. Left exhausted he is found by a tall dark joint smoking stranger, he invites him to join the hippie commune 'Apple Tree'. RATED T BUT WILL BE LATER M / AMAZINGPHIL & DANISNOTONFIRE / SMUT AHEAD
1. Chapter 1

I just lost my job.

I didn't even do anything wrong. If you assess my life right now it's not looking good. I can't pay this month's rent on my 'loft' apartment in New York, so small you could call it a closet. I can't afford food, or my scooter. No more games or laptops, I can't keep my phone.

My job was good. I worked as a writer for the New York Times, it was good pay and I enjoyed writing my weekly column, my face and name plastered at the top. Phil Lester: columnist. But that's all been taken away as of one hour ago.

I push my fringe out of my face, the hair sticking to my brow with sweat. I am up to my neck in cardboard boxes, I have to move out by this evening, and I have nowhere to go.

I shove some clothes my bag, a couple of printed shirts and my favourite black skinnies, fuck, where are my hair products and my GHD's when am I going to be able to use these again. I'm probably going to get stabbed out there, the big city and the only place I've been before is my apartment and straight to work. Since I moved here last year, the only thing I have focused on is my job.

I would be nice to have friends right about now, a couch to sleep on for a couple of weeks, somewhere to rest and get food. But nowhere, the last person I spoke to was the landlord and he was cursing at me.

I guess you could call me a workaholic. My brother tells me to relax and 'chill' but I can't. I'm checking my blackberry for emails every second. I'm arranging my time into 5 minute segments and I can't remember the last time I had a day off.

My phone rings and I switch it off, for the sixth time it's the landlord. He's going to bash me in if I don't get out right now. Suddenly my legs collapse underneath me and I fall onto the mountain of boxes, a tear falls down my cheek. My body has finally caught up with my brain.

I don't know what to do.

I have always known what to do. For as long as I can remember I have known what comes next. I worked my ass off and got the results I needed for college and then University. I got my job and then moved up in the ranks. I finally got the columnist job. And they dropped me, because they couldn't afford it.

"Couldn't fucking afford it?" I kick a box and it falls over and smashes a frame. It lands on the floor with a smash. It's me and my mother. My lip trembles even more.

The photo was taken the day before she died.

Road 'collision.'

That's what the police said. But I fucking know it wasn't. A drunken student went right into the back of the car. I was driving and every single day I recall it in my head.

The smash of glass, moments before impact, her worried face then the blood began to flow as the car rolled, everything slowed down, I tried to do something and began to spin the wheel, I don't know why, maybe thought I could save her. But I blacked out. And I let her die.

I look at the glass surrounding the photo and more tears flow from my eyes, her face as she holds my hand. She came to visit me when I first came to America; we were standing in Central Park. She looks so happy her wrinkled face and her salt and pepper cropped hair.

If only I could have done something, she could be alive now.

Everything I do, I do it for her, and now look what's happened.

I wrap the broken frame in tissue and put it in my bag along with a couple of other objects. I silently get up and walk out. I walk out of my old life forever.

The December air is cold against my pale skin, I mount my scooter and strap on my helmet. I take a deep breath and start up the engine. I don't have a destination, I just need to get away and hopefully everything can become once again. Ok.

I drive through the city, people walking. I observe everyone. That's one thing I'm good at. Watching, learning and wondering what their story is. What they like and dislike what their past is. I can watch them and not worry about talking myself. I can't do that. That's why I'm good at writing; I can put all my feelings into words and not have to confront people,

Soon the city lights become dim; my scooter hums along the dark roads, lit with lamps, I rarely pass anything, no one. The city blocks disappear and houses begin to appear, I see trees and bushes, fields and birds. It's dark but magical. I feel like I'm back in England, even though I'm so far away, I can still call England my home, that apartment was barely a cell. A residence for my Job. The job I gave everything to and all I'm left with at the end is a potted plant.

My eyes soon begin to feel heavy, the lids urge to close, I give a yawn. I long to lie down and sleep on the road. I am so exhausted. I feel I've lived my life 3 times over and I just need to fall into a deep sleep. Wake up hoping this is a dream.

I pull over into a bank. I turn off the engine and my surroundings go dark. I take off my helmet and clutch it close to my chest. I feel alone and vulnerable. I'm surely going to get murdered.

I get out a sweater and place it on the muddy grass, It makes lying down slightly more comfortable but I feel dirty and out of place, even though no one is here to judge me.

I can't get to sleep. I begin the tossing and turning, my teeth chatter and my body shakes, December is cold and unforgiving and it can't even give me a break. A homeless, jobless lifeless 26 year old manchild that can't offer the world anything apart from a dented scooter.

I open my eyes and look up at the stars, my vision is blurry without my glasses, but I see something coming towards me, I jerk round and look away. Shit.

I then hear rustling and the light gets brighter.

"Are you OK?"

I scream, I clutch my helmet in my hand and scream.

The hand reaches and hold my shoulder.

This is it Phil. You're going to die.

Keep calm, ask them nicely.

"Kill me quickly…ok." I whisper. I feel the hand reach further up to my head.

The voice laughs. It's man. English. Great I'm getting killed by someone from my home. Great. Fucking great. I try to shrug them off, my whole body quivering from either the cold or the shock. Probably both.

"Kill you?" They laugh "I might be British but I'm not a murderer."

I slowly stand up. I open my eyes and look at the stranger.

I take gasp. I breathe in the freezing air. Short for breath.

Tall, dark. Stranger.

I look at their eyes, big and liquid brown, the sort girls die over. He is wearing a large vest top showing off his toned body, Short shorts. Black denim. His hair is on the long side, wavy, but stylish. Like those hipster guys you see on tumblr. His mouth is open and smiling, he drags on a joint. The smoke visible in the winter air. It circles around his head. Exhaling in a circle, if I wasn't so scared I might be…. I might be turned on.

He walks towards me and I give another silent scream. I am getting stabbed. I feel heat as his arms wrap around me.

…3

…2

…1

My whole body tenses as he embraces me. But instead of digging into my pale flesh he hugs me. He warms me up. It feels nice.

He moves away and gives another drag of the joint.

"Dan." His dimples are exposed. I melt. "Your name is?"

I cough and try and find my voice. "Phil." I squeak. "Phil."

"And you are sleeping on our land because…?"

My eyes largen. "Shit." It slips out and I cover my mouth.

"Don't worry about it. Phil." He pauses "You not got anywhere to stay?"

I nod, too scared to talk.

He places that hand on my shoulder again. This time I don't wince.

"Come with me."


	2. Chapter 2

_**I didn't tell you in chapter one but this is my new fic I am writing, since I have kind of neglected the ones I have started but failed to update, I am really enjoying writing this and I really hope you will enjoy reading, reviews, favs and follows make my day so go ahead hehe:3**_

* * *

"Come with me.' My mind circles with worry, following some guy wearing no shoes away from the highway, he could be taking me behind a bush to have sex with me for all I know. His eyes are shining and he drags his joint, he seems, ok..not bad.

What have I got to lose, my dignity left a long time ago. I start to follow him, I wheel my bike and he takes my bag. Grabbing it and swinging it over his shoulder, I look over at Dan he is in his own world, he strokes a branch from an overhanging willow tree. He turns to me.

"Wouldn't you like sleep under a willow one day?" His eyes shine.

A bit random, I summon a smile, knowing I am not the outdoor type. "Yes." I summon the words politely.

We walk for another couple of minutes in silence, the air is cold and the atmosphere is quiet. Not a soul around apart from me and him. My brain is withholding so many thoughts.

"Who are you, um sorry I just don't know anything and..this is really strange." I take a breath. "I don't do stuff like…." I kick a stone. "Stuff like this…"

"Stuff like this?" He carries on walking.

I don't say anything.

"You mean like walking through Georgia with a joint smoking stranger, with slightly too long hair, tattoos and no shoes." He looks up, his mouth turned up slightly, like he is resisting a laugh.

"Yes."

"Well let me tell you Phil." He pulls the joint out of his mouth. "You don't need to be worried, I might look unapproachable but really, I think I'm a kind hearted person, and that's all you need right?"

"I didn't mean it like that." I stutter "I just mean like, this isn't me, I don't sleep on mud or outside EVER and I don't do stuff, adventurous things."

"Well maybe with whatever has happened to, this is your chance, to do things you would have never done before." We walk into a forest, it's so dark I can't even see his face now, but I think he's smiling.

I hadn't thought of that before. I have been completely pessimistic, and that's what I always am. The glass is always half empty. I'm never satisfied with what I have; I have always wanted, needed that something more.

"Here, try this." I feel his hand touch mine, I want to jerk away but there's something about the gentleness and warmth of his touch. I grab what I think is a joint. My mind suddenly swirls with negatives, death, drugs and negative connotations.

Come on Phil. You have to live, do it.

I take it my hand is shaking.

I hear him get something out of his satchel. Sparks fly as he lights it, the joint smokes. I want to cry and laugh at the same time.

Just 24 hours ago I was at work, sitting at a laptop, drinking starbucks. Now I'm in the woods in Georgia, about to smoke a joint with a stranger that I know nothing about.

"Come on Phil, lets live together!" I feel a hand squeeze my own. He lights up his own. More smoke fills my vision; everything is hazy, and warm. It feels so nice and different.

"Just breathe in, you might cough a bit, but nothing bad is going to happen." He gives a small laugh. "Promise."

I give a small laugh and try to joke around myself, which is completely out of character but what the hell. "Cross your heart?"

He puts his two fingers on my back and crosses them. "Crossed."

I slowly move the joint to my lips, and inhale, I breathe in. It's warm and almost comforting, I let my mind rest, and move it away. I look towards Dan for reassurance, he smiles and opens his mouth, smoke exits his lips in circles. It looks magical.

I exhale myself, the smoke swirls around me, I feel like I'm in another place, I feel like this is a dream and I'm going to wake up in my closet sized apartment. With cold coffee on my lap and underwear littered all over the floor.

"You're a natural." He winks and squeezes my hand again. I let him this time; I softly squeeze back, liking the contact. I don't want him to let go.

I feel so relaxed, I feel like I could float, I could stop walking drop to the floor and float, I feel as light as a cloud, I don't know if that's because I just smoked a joint or that I am with this guy, doing something so completely crazy it seems normal.

"Not long now, we're almost there."

Almost where?"

"You will see, but I think you are going to like it." I look away from him and up to the sky, negative thoughts drain out of my head.

I need to stop measuring time in 5 minutes, drinking 10 cups of coffee a day and leaving them full because I leave for a meeting. I need to stop crying at 4 in the morning because I can't remember the last time I celebrated something. I can't remember the last time I let go. My mind has been in one gear my whole life, and that is the top one.

"Welcome home." Dan runs in front of me and opens a wide wooden gate. I look ahead. A large house, lit with candles is staring back.

"Welcome to apple tree." He looks me in the eyes this time with shyness. "Do you like it?"

I walk up to the house and hear loud drumming music and clanging noises, It sounds beautiful, and tribal. You can see round the back of the exposed brick, the back of the house, a forest. I can't see the end, miles and miles of green.

A bonfire is lit; the embers are reds, yellows and oranges. I see figures crowded round, different heights, all dancing together. I feel alive; I want to go join in.

I am in such a happy state, nothing. Nothing can bring me down tonight.

I feel the same arm on my shoulder. This is my home.

"It's great." I cry. "I love it." I turn towards him. "I want this to be my home."

The same figure that greeted me on the roadside two hours ago smiles, he plays with his hair moves it out of his face, I look at his neck, in the light of the candles, ink, tattoos covering his skin. I look at this figure and imagine.

Just for a second I imagine what it would be like to be with him. To live in this place, and feel that I belong, because that is something I have never felt. I have never felt truly needed.


End file.
